


Space Western

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [27]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Old Town Road Music Video, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bandit Peter Nureyev, Cowboy AU, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Heist, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Light Angst, Other, Time Travel, briefly, gunfights, normal everyone else. nureyev is just a cowboy who gets teleported old town road style, that sounds like a joke and yet somehow is only kind of a joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: Nureyev, or Ransom, as he was currently known, was the kind of man who never felt more alive than with a great expanse of desert before him and a great expanse of sky above, each whizzing their way alongside him as gunfire clanged and crashed and screamed in his ears.AKA Remember how in the music video for old town road lil nas x falls out of a time travel portal and into the modern day? that was my (free!) commission prompt for @adverbialstarlight on tumblr. i took some liberties with the meaning of "modern." i hope you all like cowboys on spaceships, because this is about to get interesting
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Juno Steel
Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492
Comments: 88
Kudos: 79





	1. Gunfight at Fort Bridger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adverbialstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbialstarlight/gifts).



> hooooooooooooo boy. ok so i know the au is kind of a joke but it reads more like a genuine time travel au than a meme and honestly? it ended up pretty damn good. also just as a heads up ive tagged for the whole fic bc im too lazy to add tags so anyway enjoy that
> 
> Content warnings for pursuit, injury, gun violence, snake mention, blood

Peter Nureyev, the nameless bandit under whose gloved thumb the western territory trembled, was one of those gentlemen thieves who liked to collect his own wanted posters like trophies. 

He kept one folded in his breast pocket for safekeeping like an undercover sheriff’s star. The last time he had seen the price for his head on a pike, it had been more money than he had ever laid eyes on. Therefore, that particular version of his warrant, paired with the phrase “dead or alive” and half-accurate sketch that was barely half as handsome as he, was one he knew he had to hang onto. Nureyev doubted the authorities wanted the posters to wear his debonair grin, especially when such a practiced smile had gotten him where his speed and accuracy with a six gun could not.

Nureyev, or Ransom, as he was currently known, was the kind of man who never felt more alive than with a great expanse of desert before him and a great expanse of sky above, each whizzing their way alongside him as gunfire clanged and crashed and screamed in his ears.

“Come on, Ruby,” Nureyev murmured in between the black velvety ears of his horse who huffed and reared her head back like a dark spectre from local legend. 

He supposed, in a way, he and his steeds had all woven their way into folk heroism of some kind or another. Nureyev remembered moseying his way into a creaky old saloon one evening while a dusty sun sank in the dusty, distant sky and having to leave halfway through his first drink for fear of laughing and giving himself away when the pianist’s thick, scarred fingers began to plunk out the first chords of a ballad written in his name, or lack thereof.

Peter Nureyev, or Peter Ransom, or Duke Rose, or whatever the troubadours had decided to call him this time, was not, as they insisted, a man who slithered out of shadow like a rattlesnake instead of being born. He didn’t ride with the wind at his back, nor had he traded his soul for the fastest horse this side of the Mississippi. He wasn’t a trickster god or a coyote in human skin. He certainly wasn’t a demon sent to claim the heart and mind of any man who dared get too close.

Rather, Peter Nureyev was a strategist.

While his current steed was certainly fast, she was third in a chain of three horses, each a stolen mare bearing the same name, breed, and coloration. Peter Nureyev didn’t need to sell his soul to the devil for a quick escape when he knew well that in a match of wits, the devil himself wouldn’t stand a chance.

In a trick he was particularly proud of, he had numbered his horses’ bridles, just in case any were intercepted. One bore the number one, another two, and the third seven, so any authorities who caught them would be left on a wild goose chase for at least four horses who, in fact, did not exist.

His strategy had yet to fail him. However, when pausing a moment to mount his third and final steed, he certainly had not counted on the sheriff trailing him to steal a horse from a passing rancher and continue the pursuit with the exact same strategy as Nureyev.

Ruby, of course, was certainly not a steed to be trifled with. The sun-stained orange of sand and dirt and clustered brush passed beneath her as if her hooves alone sent the world turning, while the very clouds in the sky seemed to whiz by all the faster to the tune of her racing percussion. With gunfire shrieking in his ears, one shot flying close enough to scrape at the edge of Nureyev’s hat, Ruby seemed to fly even faster.

Peter had not planned on being successfully pursued onto his third steed. Even if he managed to outrun the sheriff and the two members of his posse, each catching up on their newly stolen steeds, he still ran the risk of the abandoned mine in which he hid out being discovered. He was close enough to be followed at this point, and if Ruby was apprehended, close enough for his trick of escape to be unraveled. 

He dug his spurless heels a little tighter into Ruby’s side, and clenching onto her with all his might, reached for his gun. Nureyev winced after a few shots rang out, each missing in turn. 

The sheriff crowed out a laugh until Nureyev’s next shot blew his hat clear off his head and into a nearby cactus, but with the speed of each of their horses, neither had time to consider it before the gunfight resumed. Nureyev would have cackled or teased the sheriff that the shot was merely a warning, but with his thighs beginning to burn and his eyes narrowing against the blazing light of high noon, all he could do was desperately try to keep his hand steady.

“You’re not getting away with this, thief!” The sheriff called.

“I’d beg to differ,” Nureyev called back. “See, what I’m doing now is often referred to as a getaway. There’s no shame in ignorance, sheriff. You see, we all learn new things every day.”

“Like what?”

“Not to get distracted,” Peter grinned as the mine flew by the edge of his vision.

He brought Ruby to a dead stop just in time for the sheriff and his posse to rush past him, at which point he abandoned his steed with the knowledge she would bolt and fend for herself if he ended up within the mineshaft for longer than a day. Nureyev knew this would be enough of a diversion to give him a moment to escape into the maze of cacti and brush and mounds of rocks that may well have been snake pits while the sheriff tried to stop, get off his horse, and see where Nureyev had gone. 

Peter later recognized his fatal mistake in running with his eyes on the ground and his hands tight around the bags of cash he had stolen, rather than a hand on his gun and his eyes on the sheriff. He would take a bite from any of the non-venomous snakes around the mine any day before the bite of a bullet sinking its fangs into his side.

Nureyev knew better than to let himself fall to the ground. The shock of the impact and the searing pain began to scream and throb from the injury, begging his legs to give out. However, he remembered the first-aid supplies in the mine and gritted his teeth, knowing this would be far from the worst of the injuries he had dealt with alone, with only coal dust and flickering lamplight and the echoes of his own screams for company.

It would all be fine once he finished dragging himself to the mine. However, with the footsteps of the sheriff and his deputies growing ever closer, Nureyev knew his first herculean task would be running headfirst into that dark and gaping maw, despite the bloom of blood he could feel eating its way through the dust-streaked black of his waistcoat. 

Each footstep seemed to send another bolt through him like a piece of metal driven into the tracks of the train from which he had just stolen a few bags of cash that were feeling less and less important by the second. It didn’t matter if he could keep a grip on his winnings if he couldn’t keep a grip on his life, let alone his freedom. He could only pray when the worn wood of the mine’s entrance swooped over his head like a great, dark bird, that the sheriff would not follow.

Nureyev didn’t stagger far before his legs gave out entirely, though it was so dark from both residual coal dust and the mine’s twisting that he doubted the sheriff could see his lapse in resolve.

“He went in there,” one of the deputies growled.

“Like hell I’m going down into that pit,” the other shivered.

“Shut the hell up,” the sheriff interrupted. “Who’s to say he ain’t gonna crawl out some other hole and get away?”

“I dunno,” the first deputy began. “You shot ‘em pretty good.”

“Not good enough unless I can see the light in his eyes go out. We’re going in, and you’re going first.”

Somewhere, Nureyev heard a match light. With his heart pounding in his chest and the bullet throbbing in his side and the ceiling of the mineshaft growing ever closer to the floor where it had caved in years ago, he tried to crawl further and further away from the approaching footsteps of the sheriff, though he knew well there was only so much space within the mineshaft. Sooner or later, he would have to either shoot his way out or die. 

Nureyev was seldom a churchgoing man, but he managed to whisper out a brief prayer before he took a deep breath and began to slither even further into the bowels of the ash-choked tunnel.

He couldn’t see a foot in front of his face, yet somehow, the tunnel seemed to be opening up, just enough to squeeze through if he ignored the shock in his side every time the rock brushed against the hole torn into his waistcoat. However, the steps of the sheriff grew distinctly quieter as he pressed onwards, and distantly, he almost saw a light. He could only hope this wasn’t death waiting for him, for he had not known this passage to exist, especially in such a familiar hideout as this.

Peter Nureyev had never been one to take a blessing for granted, however, so when he gasped at the taste of fresh and clean and dust-free air, he had no choice but to grip the metal walls of whatever awaited on the other end of the tunnel and allow himself to tumble out onto an unfamiliar floor while somewhere, a thousand miles away, he almost thought he could hear the tunnel closing shut behind him.

Nureyev didn’t have the energy to do much more than catch his breath. Wherever he was, he was certainly inside, and certainly on the floor. As much as his resolve to appear composed at all times groaned at such a predicament, he reminded himself firmly that he was allowed a few lapses with a bullet in his side. He couldn’t bring himself to ponder how a mineshaft would lead somewhere indoors, for even with steady, undirtied ground beneath him and clean oxygen sinking into his lungs, his injury still pulsed like a second, agonizing heart sewn into his side.

He barely had the strength to sit up, relying on his arms to drag him towards a slumped, sitting position against the strangest wall he had ever felt. It was cool and smooth, not unlike glass. However, Nureyev had never felt glass so evenly produced, nor so accurately that it might allow a window to curve. He didn’t doubt the sight behind him would betray some clue to his location, but frankly, with his chest still heaving out shuddering breaths and his hat knocked askew, he didn’t have the will to turn his head.

From what he could see, the remainder of the room appeared fairly normal, if not particularly expensive. A few lamps, of which he had read, but never seen in person, lit the room with a friendly glow as they sat amongst a couch and a few scattered chairs. Each faced a stand with some kind of strange mechanism atop it, though Nureyev’s head ached too badly to care enough to ponder it. Somewhere, in the distance, he could feel and hear a mechanical buzz, not unlike being aboard a train, though certainly less jostling.

Wherever Nureyev was, he was moving. As concerning as his surroundings were, he was able to take some sort of relief from that fact. He may have found himself a stranger in a strange place, but that strange place was moving, and it was moving away from the sheriff.

A glance down at his hand told him the money had made it as well and he managed an exhausted smile. When he finally had the energy to pull his gaze away from his winnings, he felt the smile melt like snow on a blazing desert day.

He might not have been conscious enough to recognize exactly what device was being held to his head, but from the grip and the stance and the glare of its user, he knew for certain he was staring down the barrel of a gun.


	2. The Stowaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN!! i love vespa and she is In This One
> 
> Content warnings for blood, injury, blood loss, vague descriptions of surgery, nausea mention

When Dark Matters tried to sink their teeth into the hull of the Carte Blanche with an attempted portal that Rita had to frantically redirect, Juno was pretty sure that was the weirdest thing that could have happened to him all day. However, he hadn’t accounted for anything coming through Rita’s portal in turn, let alone someone armed, confused, and potentially bleeding out onto the window in the Carte Blanche’s lounge.

“Who the hell are you?” Juno demanded.

The man blinked, knitting his brow, as if he had yet to decide.

“Peter Ransom,” he returned.

“Okay, Peter Ransom,” Juno began, trying in earnest not to sound too mocking. However, there was only one way to treat a stowaway, especially one whose ties to Dark Matters were still indeterminate. For all he knew, Ransom could have been a plant, rather than someone with a gun who just happened to wander into Rita’s portal. “Why are you on our ship?”

“Beg pardon?”

“How the hell did you get here?”

Ransom tried to straighten himself to get a better look around. Juno was about to jam his blaster a little more forcefully to his temple until a gasp of pain sent him crumpling back down into the window, his chest shuddering out an agonized breath and one hand creeping its way towards his side, as if clutching his injury would do it any good.

“A ship?” Ransom tried to pant out. “I was in—there isn’t any water—”

“Shut up,” Juno grumbled. Sick of his sympathetic streak tugging at his sleeve, Juno allowed himself to fall to his knees at the stranger’s side. “What happened to you?”

“Shootout east of Fort Bridger,” Ransom wheezed. “Turned my back on the sheriff and tried to escape through a mineshaft.”

Juno blinked. 

“Did you hit your head?”

“I must have,” Peter groaned, his bloodstained hand finding its way up to his forehead to feel around for any injury beneath the brim of his hat. “Or died.”

“You’re not dead yet,” Juno returned.

“Why else would I be seeing an angel?” Ransom managed to smile faintly.

“How much blood have you lost?” Juno huffed.

“Too much, I’m sure,” Ransom returned, that lofty look beginning to drift upon his face. “Why do you ask, dear?”

“Vespa!” Juno called over his shoulder.

“Goddammit Steel, what is it now?” She returned from the next room.

“Come take a look at this!”

Juno could nearly hear her eye roll from a room over, but he already had his glare prepared.

“Little busy studying the cure to all disease and everything,” she returned. “What’s so important that I’ve gotta take a look at it?”

“There’s a stowaway and he’s bleeding out!”

Vespa didn’t reply, though Juno knew she had to be interested if she was hurrying fast enough for her steps to be audible. She didn’t jog to his side so much as she slid, an emergency first aid kit in hand and her elbow already in Juno’s gut.

“Back up, lemme look at him,” she ordered.

“Your hair…” Ransom murmured, eyes dazedly fixing upon Vespa’s head. “How does it do that?”

“Shut the hell up,” she growled. “Before I save your life, why don’t you tell me who the hell you are and how you got here?”

“Said his name’s Peter Ransom and then followed it up with a whole lotta nonsense about a shootout and a mine,” Juno returned when it seemed Ransom’s eyes had gone too glassy to respond correctly.

“The tunnel just kept going,” he murmured. “Then light, then—”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Juno returned quietly, shocking himself with just how gentle his voice had gone. He cleared his throat, then continued. “You think he got caught in Rita’s portal?”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to tell until I sew his guts back together,” Vespa shook her head. “I’d say to throw him out the airlock, but if he’s another robot, it might be better to study him.”

“I assure you, I am—” Ransom began, trailing away with a wince when Vespa’s hands began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. “Ma’am, I cannot see your face at the moment, but as lovely as I’m sure you are, my predilection is rather—”

“Steel, pass me the light,” Vespa cut him off a little too loudly, then turned back to Ransom. “Don’t make me regret saving your life.”

“Duly noted.”

Juno tossed her the light, which she clicked on, then secured between her teeth as her hands got to work with a few surgical machines Juno almost recognized from the few times he had needed to patch himself up from cases or heists gone wrong. While he clenched his jaw in preparation for Ransom to protest the machine, it was not his hand nor his voice that made Vespa’s hands pull away or the light to fall from her mouth when her jaw dropped.

“What the hell…” she murmured.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s a bullet,” Vespa breathed. “Like a real one. Made of metal and everything.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Ransom groaned. “You needed only ask.”

Vespa ignored him and finished doing away with that corner of his waistcoat and shirt to get a better look at the injury. Sure enough, after some work with what looked like the ugliest tweezers Juno had ever seen, Vespa returned with a chunk of metal Juno had only seen the likes of in museums and documentaries. It seemed the object had presented itself in the flesh in more ways than one. 

“Okay, if you’re gonna keep pulling shit out of his guts, I’m gonna have to take a walk,” Juno grimaced. He backed away, but did not stand.

“No way. If you’re gonna pull a cowboy out of a wormhole, there’s no way in hell you get to put this all off on me,” Vespa returned. “Automatic scalpel?”

Juno groaned.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Which one is that?”

“The sharp one with the thread, genius,” she shot back.

Juno managed to pry his gaze out from behind his hands for long enough to glance through the first aid kit and hand something that fit the description to Vespa, who snatched it away with faux-angry force. With no way to leave and the scent of blood beginning to go to his head and stomach in equal measure, Juno forced his gaze elsewhere when the machine began to whir.

He would have bet anything that Peter Ransom was a hell of a handsome bastard when he cleaned up. His lazy, dazed smile was as soft as it was sharp, even though his eyes were as glassy as the dome and great expanse of space behind him. Had the curve of his cheek not been streaked with both dirt and his own blood, Juno was sure it would have been lovely. Even bloodied and dusted and sweat-stained and beginning to lose consciousness, Ransom had the nerve to look gorgeous despite it.

Juno had expected him to wince at what had to be an unfamiliar sensation, though, between the design of the automatic scalpel and just how far away his mind seemed to be, Ransom merely continued to drift until either the anesthetic or blood loss got to him and his head lolled onto his shoulder, that dreamy smile refusing to fade until his chest let out a heavy sigh and he slumped back against the window altogether.

Vespa sighed, her weight going back on her heels as she looked Ransom over, admiring her handiwork.

“What the hell do we do now?” Juno breathed.

“I dunno, Steel,” she huffed. “You found him.”

“You think the infirmary, or what?”

“Until Bud says to throw him out the airlock, that’s probably the best choice,” Vespa considered. “It’s got the most secure locks of anywhere, just in case you have to quarantine somebody.”

Juno managed a faint nod, still trying to ground his head, which was spinning at the smell and sight of blood. However, gritting his teeth, he managed to lift a now-limp Ransom into his arms. Peter was surprisingly light, though Juno had suspected he hadn’t seen more than the idea of his form between his layers and loose fitting chaps. Ransom seemed to dress to keep himself hidden. If he had truly been pursued by a sheriff, Juno supposed that would make sense.

He felt more solidarity with Ransom than he wanted to admit. He had made the mistake of letting sympathy get cozy in his chest after a dazed and injured Ransom had begun to flirt with him. However, he didn’t need to be a detective to put together too much of Peter’s backstory. He was a thief of some kind, regardless of what era he had come from, and he had found himself amongst hostile strangers in an unknown place after being near-mortally injured by law enforcement.

Juno supposed his accidental solidarity with the thief was understandable enough, and therefore, he did not blame himself too harshly when he took pains to ensure Ransom’s boots, hat, waistcoat, and jacket were all removed and arranged at the bedside of his infirmary bed. 

Nothing more than that solidarity between thieves made him ensure Ransom slept under the blankets, rather than atop, for he suspected Peter may not be used to comforts such as an air conditioner and may want to experience a decent bed properly for the first time in his life. Finding Peter handsome or maybe even a little charming had nothing to do with the reason Juno jotted down a note for him to find, just in case he should wake in a confused panic.

“You’re safe and getting medical care. Don’t worry too much and don’t rip your stitches,” the note tried to say as neutrally as possible. 

He signed it with his name and left it atop Ransom’s chest. He pretended his pulse didn’t get a little calmer when he watched it rise and fall easily, those gasps and groans of pain replaced by a gentle, medicated sleep.

Eventually, Juno managed to drag himself from the infirmary, only feeling a small twinge of guilt when he locked the door behind him and left to clean himself up for the subsequent family meeting.

“Juno,” Buddy greeted upon his return, hands freshly cleaned and shirt thrown in the wash to either be cleaned of blood or burned. “I’m glad to see you could join us. I was hoping to have the entirety of the crew present to put the matter of our stowaway to a vote. I’m sure you’re no stranger to the concept of odd numbers, darling, and the matter of a stowaway with potential ties to Dark Matters is one I’d prefer to put forth in front of the entire crew.”

“We need to keep him around,” Juno returned before he even had a chance to take his seat at the table. “Just to question him, at least.”

“I must ask, if Ransom truly is a Dark Matters operative, how long is it safe to keep him aboard the vessel at all, let alone unsupervised?” Jet prompted.

“Hate to say it, but I think I’m with Steel,” Vespa admitted through gritted teeth.

Buddy raised an eyebrow.

“And why is that, darling?”

“Hey—” Juno began to protest, though his words fell away when Vespa produced a wad of gauze from one of her many pockets, set it on the table, and began gingerly unwrapping it.

The bullet had been cleaned since Juno had last seen it, giving him a chance to examine the way the metal had melted and warped in a way metal wasn’t supposed to be able to do anymore, even when hit by blaster fire.

“If my research’s right, we haven’t had guns like this in a couple thousand years,” Vespa began, producing Ransom’s weapon from her pocket and setting it on the table. “That thing’s only got six shots, and it’s still got one of the bullets still in there. Not even lasers.”

“I think I saw something like that in a movie once,” Rita supplied. “Mighta been Night at the Museum 17: Jedediah and Octavian Finally Get Married in This One.”

“And look, I didn’t do any digging, but I took a look at his boots when I left him in the infirmary, and that’s not sim-leather. No brand labels and weird as hell measurements. I’d say custom made,” Juno offered. 

“I also took this off of him,” Vespa returned, leaving the table with one last piece of evidence as she unfolded a dusty wanted poster upon the table. “Hand drawn. Says he’s some kind of thief wanted dead or alive.”

“Dear Lord, that’s in dollars,” Buddy murmured upon sight of the text. 

“It appears to be hand drawn as well,” Jet thought aloud.

“I don’t see why not to keep him around then,” Rita shrugged.

“If this truly is the work of Dark Matters, it is certainly a complex one,” Buddy considered. “And I’ll admit, I see no merit in injuring one’s own operative to garner sympathy.”

“So are we voting or not?” Vespa asked.

“All in favor of throwing our stowaway out of the airlock?” Buddy asked, a smile twitching at the edge of her mouth when nobody moved. “Well then. If Ransom proves our theories, I suppose we might as well have a guest on board.”

“What the hell do we do with him?” Juno cut in before she could dismiss the meeting.

“That’s a bridge to cross at a different time, darling,” Buddy returned brusquely. “As a worst case scenario, he reveals his true colors and we do with him what crews of criminals have done best with traitors through all eras of history. As a best case scenario, well, I did always say I wanted a crew of six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYO!! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill HUG YOU
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	3. Spaceship Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this one gets cute i was in a mood and cried a little when writing it i just like being alive so much yknow? :,)
> 
> Content warning for mentions of injury/surgery

When Peter Nureyev awoke, he spent a solid thirty seconds convinced he had died and gone to some kinder plane of existence than the one he had just left. 

He felt cleaner than he had in his entire life, not to mention the soft, warm expanse below him was the platonic ideal of a mattress. The fabric held no lumps nor stench of feathers, but was smooth, conforming to the shape of his spine as if it had been made specifically to hold him. 

The air didn’t smell of dust, but rather, a far-off perfume, and no howl of desert wind hung in the air. All he could hear was the friendly rumbling of an engine, not unlike a purring cat.

He only flickered his eyes open upon realizing half of his calmness stemmed from the gentle fingers carding through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and back into place upon his head.

Nureyev tried to get up, but his neck protested and his brain felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation, but the full-body buzz that came with the strange loftiness of his mind left him all but pinned to the bed. Every limb felt far too exhausted and far too comfortable to move. With that gentle hand still pressing his hair back to his head where it had been jostled aside by sleep, he didn’t particularly see much point in shifting anyway.

“Hey, hey, don’t move too much yet,” an almost familiar voice murmured as Nureyev’s eyes flickered open. “You’re still waking up.”

Nureyev hummed in response until his eyes could properly fix on the lady above him, looking like a goddess in his halo of a distant, electric light. He couldn’t see much of the room, but he doubted there was much of the room he’d rather look at with that soft, dark eye staring down at him with a strange expression that might have been affection. 

He sighed out a deep breath upon relaxing into the stranger’s touch, though his eyes, once drifting shut, flew open when he recognized exactly who it was playing with his hair.

The stranger had been the same to both glare down the barrel of a gun at him and gently talk him through a surgery Nureyev could barely remember. He had some grasp on a moment in which they might have shared a gentle glance, though it barely held a candle to the softness of the gaze upon him now. He couldn’t help but cherish a better chance to look upon a face that seemed a worshipful sculpture of a muse, rather than the structure of a real person.

“You’re—” he paused, trying to summon the name back to his tongue. “Steel.”

The lady winced.

“Call me Juno,” he insisted. “The only people who call me Steel are the ones who want me dead.”

“But your friend—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t hear you say that,” Juno snorted. “Crewmate. Ship’s doctor.”

“That does make sense,” Nureyev chuckled. “Peter Ransom, if I haven’t already told you.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter Ransom,” Juno returned, kind enough not to correct Nureyev.

“If I might ask,” he began slowly, feeling his words had grown lazy from whatever comfort or anesthetic sat heavy in his bones. “Where am I?”

Juno huffed, as if remembering an argument Nureyev had managed to sleep through.

“You were in the infirmary,” he began through gritted teeth. “But apparently, since you’re a lot less injured and Vespa didn’t wanna waste space, you’re my problem now, which means you’re in my room.”

“Am I such a terrible problem, Juno Steel?” Peter smiled, savoring the way the name felt falling from his lips the first time.

“Depends,” Juno returned. “You know, I’m supposed to be interrogating you right now.”

“Oh,” Nureyev mused. “What terribly important information might I know?”

“Depends,” Juno repeated.

Nureyev sighed.

“I don’t know why I expected too many answers from a day that’s been terribly confusing already,” he grimaced. “Go on, if you must.”

Only then did Juno’s hand pull away from his hair, leaving Nureyev open-mouthed and ready to beg forgiveness or say anything he needed to in order to get the gentle touch to return. However, Juno’s hand had only left to retrieve a strange piece of metal which he glanced at, scanned, and then nodded, likely reading over a written list.

“Okay,” Juno began. “We’ve got a few just to make sure you don’t have any brain damage.”

“Go on.”

“So who’s the—” Juno broke off to glance back at his device. “President?”

“Oh, god,” Nureyev began as his mind seemingly dried of any memory of politics. “Cleveland?”

Juno raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment, merely trailing his fingers along the device while it clicked out a response. Nureyev couldn’t tell if he was tinkering with unseen gears or something else, but he found himself far too tired to question it. The strange semantics of the place in which he found himself could be dealt with once he proved not to be a threat to the crew of this so-called ship.

“Right,” Juno returned slowly. “And what ‘state’ are you from?”

“Wyoming, though I may have been born elsewhere,” Nureyev replied. “Why, Juno, you look as if you’ve never heard of such a place.”

Juno resolutely didn’t comment.

“How’d you get hurt?”

“I had just robbed a train—” Nureyev broke off to try and fail to sit up at the memory of his earnings.

“Your bags are all in my closet, don’t worry,” Juno assured him, a gentle hand guiding him back towards the mattress. “So you’d just robbed a train.”

“Yes. I was escaping on horseback when I attempted to make a getaway into a semi-collapsed mine I’ve been using as a hiding spot,” Nureyev continued. “At which point the sheriff did what sheriffs are wont to do.” 

For some strange reason, he didn’t entirely mind allowing this story to fall from his lips. Despite his better judgement, which seemed to have taken a brief vacation for the time being, he couldn’t help but trust Juno Steel, who all but held him like a lover and eased his concerns with words that were equal parts gentle and firm.

“And that’s where you found the—uh—portal?”

“Yes,” Nureyev confirmed. “I suppose you could call it that. I was pursued into the mine and continued trying to get further and further away. I reached the tail end of the shaft, but for some reason, it seemed to keep going. I saw a light at the end, and once I reached it, I ended up here.”

Juno nodded. Nureyev had expected him to treat him like some kind of madman, perhaps eyeing him strangely or disregarding his story altogether. However, Juno only listened, as if Nureyev’s tale was far from the strangest he had ever heard.

“And who do you work for?” Juno continued before Nureyev could think too long about the way something in his chest twisted once his gaze trailed off to look at Juno for too long.

“Beg pardon?”

“When you go out and do what you do, who tells you to do it?”

“Juno, I’ve never worked a day in my life for anybody but myself,” Nureyev returned. “My mentor, of course, but that was years ago and—well, I thought our self interests were the same at the time, so I suppose that doesn’t count.”

“Have you ever heard of a group of people called Dark Matters?” Juno asked instead.

“No, but I must say,” Nureyev managed to chuckle, grateful for the change in topic. “That is quite the horrendous name for any organization. They sound rather malicious.”

Juno snorted out a laugh.

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. “Alright, interrogation over.”

“Wonderful. I was thoroughly intimidated the entire time, you brute,” Nureyev returned. “You do have quite the way of loosening my tongue, dear. Tell me, do you play with the hair of every prisoner you put through such terrible questioning?”

Juno sputtered, preparing a response of offense until Nureyev broke into a friendly chuckle.

“It’s nice,” he smiled before Juno could shoot any barb back at him in return.

“I just thought you’ve had a rough couple of days, so if I could try to get your hair out of your eyes, it might do something to help,” Juno grumbled.

“It did,” Nureyev returned lightly. “I rather enjoyed it, though I must say, you sound particularly sorry for me. More so than a bullet should warrant, in my opinion.”

“Look,” Juno began with a huff. “I don’t know how to explain it to you, but whatever tunnel you went through spat you out somewhere completely different to everything you’ve ever known.”

“Not as much as you would think,” Nureyev considered. “There aren’t too many unfamiliar machines, though some, I’ll admit I’ve only seen pictures of.”

“Ransom,” Juno said slowly. “When we first found you, did you look out the window?”

Nureyev knit his brow. 

“I don’t believe so.”

Juno paused to check what appeared to be a timepiece on his wrist, bit his lip, then glanced back up to Ransom with a nod.

“Okay. It’s late, so I’m gonna need you to stay quiet, just in case everybody else is sleeping,” Juno sighed. “Do you think you can walk?”

Nureyev considered the question for a moment. He turned away from where Juno was sitting on the bed next to him, and though every inch apart seemed to stretch into a mile, he was glad he attempted to stand by a bed, for when his knees buckled, he had something gentle to grab on to to break his fall. Juno rushed to his side before he could do much more than sink a couple inches.

“Here,” Juno offered, an arm resting on Nureyev’s waist. Peter made a physical effort of pretending the handsome stranger’s touch didn’t make his heart flutter. “Just put as much weight on me as you need.”

“Thank you, dear, but I—”

“Nope,” Juno cut him off. “I don’t care how much of a gentleman thief you used to be. You’re not impressing anybody until you’re healed.”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow as Juno began to help him limp his way out of a strange sliding door and down a hall with dozens more doors just like the one through which they had passed. 

He would have spared a glance for those or the dimming glow of lights that almost emulated the glow of a late night campfire, but rather, he found his eyes could only fix on the way they anointed Juno’s face. The line of his jaw seemed carved specifically for such a holy light, and for a moment, Nureyev could see the goddess for whom he was named etched into every line and scar and curve upon his face.

“How did you know I’m a gentleman thief? For all you know, I’m a no-good, down-low, dirty rotten bandit,” Nureyev chuckled.

“Apparently you were a big deal back in the day,” Juno shrugged. “Did my reading and put the rest together myself. I guessed the gentleman bandit who called himself Ransom and disappeared the same year that guy you said was president might’ve been you.”

“Disappeared?” Nureyev returned. “To where?”

Juno’s other arm gestured vaguely around at the hall. 

“Here.”

“It doesn’t seem a terrible place to have disappeared to,” Nureyev considered. “I’m not wanted for anything and I have a roof over my head. That’s better than most days.”

Juno sighed.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind once you see where I’m taking you,” he returned. “It’s—well, it’s gonna be a lot to take in. I’m gonna tell you that now.”

“Juno,” Nureyev sighed. “I’ve disappeared off to the future, it seems. I doubt there’s anything you could show me that wouldn’t be a lot to take in.”

Juno shrugged. 

“Fair point,” he replied, pausing before the final door in the hall. “I’m gonna help you into a chair so you can get a good look at this, alright? But if you want to close your eyes or whatever, I’d do that now.”

“Do you have a surprise for me, Juno?” Nureyev chuckled. “Well, then, I suppose I oughtn't ruin it.”

Nureyev shut his eyes just in time to feel Juno’s arms, which were surprisingly, though far from unpleasantly strong, pulling him close to his chest while he shouldered his way through the door. Juno grunted once or twice with the effort of carrying him, making it all the crueller that he could not peek an eye open for such a close and intimate look at the lovely lady who had insisted on making his every waking moment torturous just by being so distinctly Juno Steel.

Tragically, of course, Juno set him down upon a couch that felt far too comfortable for its own good. Again, Nureyev sank into the furniture, entirely surrounded by what once merely supported a spine that ached with the aftershocks of injury, however numb the site itself might be. He felt Juno sink down beside him with a sigh, and only after those gentle hands guided his shoulder back to the cushions did Juno speak.

“Go ahead and open your eyes,” Juno instructed, a steadying hand still upon Nureyev’s shoulder.

Just beyond that great, curved pane of glass sat a great globe of blue and green, each patch of ocean as blue as the endless depths of the sky in which Nureyev had found comfort. The masses of mossy green twisted and snaked their way into shapes that gradually, impossibly began to reflect upon his childishly wide eyes with some semblance of familiarity.

After a moment of staring dumbstruck at an image he had only seen on globes and stretched out upon maps, Nureyev blinked. He shook his head, as if the vision before him, sitting lonely in a deep, velvety void as dark and sweet as Juno’s iris, might be thrown away by force. Despite all his efforts, the Earth, glowing with all the light the sun could smile upon it, refused to vanish.

Eventually, his wide-eyed staring turned to something softer, not unlike the rush of emotion he felt upon looking at the one photograph he had of himself as a child, torn in twain to rid of a father figure whose visage he had to part from by force. Something warm bubbled up in his chest and behind his eyes, and before he knew it, that beautiful stranger upon whom he’d had little more impression than injury and confusion was murmuring an apology into his hair and wiping something that might have been a tear from his face.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Juno muttered. “God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, we were just flying by, and—”

Nureyev shook his head, though he certainly couldn’t argue with Juno’s thumb as it continued to trail atop his cheekbone. 

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“First man in space,” Juno chuckled. “Technically.”

“Well,” Nureyev prepared to argue, but it broke into a watery, ugly laugh he regretted the moment it burst from his lips. However, Juno chuckled as well, as sweet and soft as the sound of a bubbling stream on a blazing summer day, and that strange warmth rose in his chest once more.

“So that’s Earth,” Juno sighed. “I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

“Like nothing you’ve ever seen,” Nureyev mused. “A sky so deep you could drown in it. On a clear night, if you look up, you can see the bands of the galaxy above. I—well, I never thought I’d go there.”

“I managed to see the sky on Mars once or twice—there’s a dome so the sun doesn’t kill us up there—and God, the sunset was like nothing else,” Juno continued. 

Nureyev didn’t quite realize Juno was making an active effort to soothe him until he registered that at some point, his head had fallen upon Juno’s chest and their hands had knit together. It was particularly intimate, though he couldn’t find it in him to mind. This strange lady—this Martian—who should have deemed him an outsider or a traitor, had, for some reason, found it apt to hold him close and tend to his injury and ensure no information was too much for him at any time. 

Perhaps he was tired or addled or it had just been that many years since he had been held in the arms of another, but he feared that traitorous organ within his chest was preparing to make a terrible and wonderful mistake.

For the time being, he didn’t stop it. He listened as Juno Steel told him about the fiery sunsets on Mars, and occasionally, he would murmur out his own stories about deserts and red rocks and caves. All the while, he watched as the Earth sailed by beneath them on what truly was a ship, just one never intended for sea. Eventually, that stretching mass of sea and ground with the deep blue sky he had come to love like a brother began to shrink in the distance, just another blip of light in the dotted canvas of space reflected in the glass eye of the window.

Nureyev didn’t catch a last look at it, however, for his eyes were trained on Juno, who, in his care-worn exhaustion, had fallen asleep, still laying on the couch and holding Peter like a lover in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN!!!!! i like earth a lot. nureyev seems to as well. whoopsies this could get interesting!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill say mean things about your planet
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	4. Shirt Taxonomy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN I LOVE THIS ONE NOT EVEN GONNA LIE
> 
> Content warnings for mentions of pain/injury, blood mention

After a short period of doting over Ransom’s injury and pretending only the memory of his brother made his heart clench when the thief showed the first sign of pain, Juno was really beginning to regret letting Peter Ransom share his bed.

He’d been the one assigned to have Ransom as his problem after a brief argument regarding who of them had actually brought a sleeping bag. Juno wasn’t just going to make Ransom take the floor while injured, nor was he going to ruin his spine just because he tried to make excuses not to share a bed with a stranger who couldn’t quite move from the other side.

Unfortunately, having Ransom as his problem seemed to mean a lot more than letting him take the opposite end of the bed.

“Dear,” Ransom called from the closet. “Must you stay in bed at a time like this? I require your assistance, and—“

Juno rolled over, wrapped another layer around his blanket burrito, and groaned.

“How much have clothes really changed?” He grumbled into the pillow. 

“Exponentially, Juno,” Peter huffed. “I can hardly tell which of these are shirts.”

“Anything with arm holes,” Juno returned. “You got shot. How the hell are you up already?”

“A thief can never be too prepared,” Ransom mused, though he audibly frowned at the sound of something falling from a hanger.

“I’m a thief,” Juno grumbled. “I’m not up yet.”

“Well, you’re awake.”

“Not by choice.”

Ransom merely hummed to the tune of hangers swishing and sliding as he went about his incredibly noisy exploration at what Juno had intended to be an incredibly quiet hour. He didn’t care if it was nearly late enough to make an excuse for lunch, nor did he care that the rest of the crew was already awake.

Juno was almost certain Ransom didn’t remember the events of the night before, but any time his pain medications waned, Juno found it nearly impossible to sleep through the slightest noise or sign of pain. He prayed Ransom didn’t remember the fingers carding through his hair or just how carefully Juno made sure to tend to any aspect of upkeep for the injury.

Regardless of how much or how little he wanted to think about the soft, sleepy whimpers that lightened and evened out under a gentle touch, Juno pushed the thought aside. What mattered now was that Ransom remembered none of it and Juno had been rendered exhausted. The best thing he could do for the both of them was to try his best to get a few more minutes of sleep.

Of course, Ransom just had to continue making that difficult.

“Juno, I know you said a certain amount of skin was acceptable, but I must ask, how much skin might I show in polite company?” Ransom called again.

“Ugh. As much as you want,” Juno huffed.

“My collarbone?”

“Look, if it’s in my closet, don’t you think it would be socially acceptable?”

“My, you are a delicate little thing,” Ransom murmured. “Are you like this to all your bedmates?”

“Just the ones who keep me up.”

Ransom laughed, light and sweet as a bell. Juno pretended that made his heart lurch a little less than it did. 

“Juno, I hate to wake you once more, but could you, perhaps, check this outfit over for me? I’m not quite sure if this will work,” Ransom began after a pause.

Juno didn’t have to look up to know Ransom had trodden closer, for a ginger hand had come to rest upon his shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, back up so I can see you,” Juno groaned, sitting up.

He rubbed his eyes while Ransom backed up, having a feeling something was terribly wrong even before he registered that the footsteps had the distinct click of boots upon the floor. When his hand fell, his jaw did too. 

At the very least, Ransom seemed to have grasped the concept of pants. Otherwise, there wasn’t much else going for him. 

Juno’s vision went from the floor up, for it seemed he could only handle an inch of Peter Ransom at a time. The spurless boots were to be expected, though Juno felt his hand slide over his mouth at the sight of his own sweatpants tucked into them. Ransom had chosen the pair that were always just a little too long for Juno, likely so he could get the right fit with the boots. Juno made a rapid mental note to ignore just how nice the gray sweats looked on him until he had all of his mental faculties recovered from sleep.

Above the waist wasn’t much better. While Ransom seemed to piece together what exactly was meant to be worn on the legs, Juno didn’t doubt an array of tops of different fabrics and occasions would all seem about the same to someone who hadn’t ever seen a camisole before. 

He might have expected a scarf repurposed as a poncho or a blouse put on backwards, but it seemed either guess was far too generous considering that Peter Ransom seemed to be sent specifically through time and space to torture Juno.

“That’s—“ Juno tried and failed to say without stammering at the sight of Peter Ransom in a wine red lace bralette he’d been saving for a special occasion that hadn’t happened in quite some time. “That’s not a shirt.”

Ransom glanced down at the outfit, as if he saw no issue with it.

“Well, it has arm holes and it reveals my collar bone, which, as you said—“

“It’s an under the shirt kind of thing,” Juno cut him off before that easy, almost teasing smile could do any more unfair things to that awful organ between his ribs. 

Ransom hummed in response, turned halfway to the closet again when he froze, eyes wide and hand over his mouth in a mirror image of Juno, who had still tumbled halfway out of his blanket burrito to look upon his new roommate.

“Oh dear God,” he realized. “Is this for—“

“Yeah,” Juno choked.

“Dear Lord I’m sorry,” Ransom continued, turning and draping his original button down over his shoulders as quickly as he could manage, as if attempting to spare Juno’s purity in some sense or another. 

He did not, however, take it off. Juno really wished he minded that, but his mind was too lost on the sight of Ransom’s shirt left open and unbuttoned over the wine red lace that bloomed as dark and sweet as a love bite across his chest.

“I mean, it doesn’t look bad,” Juno returned, then immediately regretted it.

“Juno,” Ransom returned with a grin, that damned shirt still hanging open. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No—I don’t know—shut up,” Juno huffed, finally forcing him to roll out of bed. “I’ve seen you without a shirt before. This isn’t an issue.”

Ransom raised an eyebrow.

“I changed your bandages a couple times,” Juno explained, trying his best to keep eye contact with Ransom without glaring at the resounding smirk he received. 

“Very sweet of you,” Ransom beamed.

Peter Ransom had one of those smiles that looked more befitting for a saloon than a spaceship. His eyes were as dark and sweet as the twinkling night sky he had murmured about when weeks ago, his eyes had reflected twin planets down at his home from thousands of years before. 

His grin, meanwhile, might have been the fangs of a rattlesnake, bared in a coyote’s grin. He wore the lofty expression of a man with an elbow in the bar and an offer for a drink on his lips. Juno could’ve drowned in that expression. He didn’t realize he’d started to do so until Ransom’s hand fell upon his shoulder.

“Juno, dear, are you listening to me?”

“What?” He sputtered. 

Peter only chuckled, not unkindly. 

“Well, I’m not sure I can repeat myself with quite as much prose as originally, but I said I was thankful,” Ransom smiled. “You’ve been quite the host, you know. When I find myself in someone else’s care, they don’t usually say I look nice in their clothes.”

Juno choked down the beginnings of a few different sentences until Ransom spared him the pains of having to wither under that all too soft and all too intimate gaze. Peter turned back towards the closet, arms crossed over his chest. Juno said a silent prayer of thanks that his eyes could no longer get lost while walking the trails of his collarbone and pectorals.

“I suppose if this outfit isn’t going to work, you might as well help me find something else,” Peter mused. “Where might I start?”

“Shoes off, first of all,” Juno began. “Try these instead. I bought the wrong size and forgot to get rid of them.”

Juno tossed him an unopened pack of novelty socks from atop the dresser, while Ransom just stared down at them, brow knit.

“What are those?”

“Cats, why?”

Ransom looked up at him with his eyes wide.

“Why do they have a barbed tail?” He choked out.

“Why do rabbits have one eye?” Juno shrugged.

“One?” Ransom sputtered.

“I’m kidding,” Juno snorted upon turning back to the closet. “They have three. How do you feel about sweaters?”

Ransom swallowed down his shock enough to reply, though not enough for Juno to avoid taking note of how cute he looked when his ears flushed or his brow knit in focused confusion.

“Not bad,” he mused, halfway through the first sock. “They’re not particularly unfamiliar. I assume they don’t pair well with these pants, however.”

“I’ve got a skirt long enough that it might fit,” Juno shrugged. He sank to a squat to dig through a lower drawer, silently cursing himself for the mess. “Might be a bit short on you, but whatever.”

“Speaking of which,” Ransom began. “I assume it’s significantly more acceptable to show a certain amount of one’s limbs now, correct?”

“Yep,” Juno returned as he threw the skirt over his shoulder, following it up with a blue sweater that had always been a bit too long on his arms and torso.

“That would explain quite a bit,” Ransom chuckled. “I’ve seen more legs in the last week than I’ve seen in my entire life.”

Juno prepared to stifle a laugh, but found that his slack jaw did the job for him when he stood and turned around.

He had been aware that Peter was handsome, even behind the sweat and dust and blood Juno had needed to clean off of him himself. He recognized in a distant, technical way that his face was symmetrical and his poise was tidy and he had a smile equal parts sweet and sharp. However, not until he saw Ransom in a skirt that rode just a little too high and a sweater whose slouching neck revealed that he hadn’t seen fit to return Juno’s bralette did he realize just how gorgeous his new roommate was.

Juno swallowed and neatly pushed away the thought that he’d been sharing a bed with this gentleman for a week. He’d been just throwing sweats at this guy for weeks while he looked like a model, even in borrowed clothes. Their hands had brushed. Ransom had fallen asleep with his head upon Juno’s chest and quieted his agony at the feeling of Juno’s hands in his hair. Of all people, this patch of smoke and starlight woven into a person saw fit to flirt with him.

“Is it that terrible?” Ransom chuckled.

Juno realized he’d been far too quiet for far too long.

“It looks really good,” he admitted. Ransom beamed and Juno had to do his best to pretend that didn’t make his head spin.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Ransom did Juno the kindness of firmly directing the subject elsewhere before Juno could embarrass himself too thoroughly and took him by the arm as if he were leading a partner to a dance floor. Juno, still in his three-eyed bunny slippers, couldn’t help but stand up a little straighter, though, with the height of the gentleman dragging him into the kitchen for lunch, he almost had to in order to get a decent look at his face.

When Peter glanced down at him and smiled, Juno decided he couldn’t carry on pretending he didn’t like it when Ransom looked at him that way. He managed a shaky reflection of the expression in return, and with his new resolution, couldn’t even pretend his heart didn’t skip a beat when Ransom squeezed his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW!! based vaguely on my memories of a child of wearing cowboy boots with literally anything because i was a recovering horse girl
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill steal your socks
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! another fun one on the books!!
> 
> Content warnings for food mention, gun usage (i.e. in a shooting range), alcohol mention, injury mention, painkiller mention

As much as Peter Nureyev missed wearing his own fitted clothes, he had a feeling he was going to miss Juno’s once his own shipment of outfits came in on the delivery drone. He knew for certain he would miss the way Juno stared and sputtered and lingered his touches when helping Nureyev figure out a zipper or set of straps he had never encountered before.

The help was unnecessary, but that didn’t mean Peter couldn’t enjoy it. Over his last several weeks aboard the Carte Blanche, he had found that Juno Steel was one of those parts of the ship he rather liked.

As much as he appreciated that such chores as dishwashing and laundry could be done with automatic ease, he appreciated Juno, who had insisted that Nureyev being “his problem” meant being his problem at all times, leading him through the chores even more. 

Frankly, he didn’t enjoy loading a so-called dishwasher half as much when Juno’s hand wasn’t on his shoulder and his lips so close to his neck when he peered down into the depths of the machine to see how badly Nureyev had managed to screw up the pattern of the dishes. The novelty of these new machines faded quickly, especially without Juno’s guiding touch.

He had yet to master cooking, which allowed him far more personal lessons than merely learning how to scrub surfaces with the kind of soap that came in a bottle. At first, Juno had assumed he had some kind of grasp on cooking, even as an individual in his own time. However, the both of them quickly learned that cooking anything in any era, regardless of the wonders of modern technology, was going to be a challenge. 

Juno had started by leaning with an elbow up on the cabinet nearby, as if that didn’t make Nureyev’s gaze tarry and lose itself along the lines of his bicep while the food burnt to a crisp. Juno would laugh, and sometimes swear, at him in response while trying to save them all from a burnt-down ship, though Nureyev would gladly cope with the reeking scent of burnt onions every day if it meant getting to hear the way Juno laughed time and time again.

Juno was not a precise individual. He wasn’t nearly as premeditated as Nureyev, especially not in the presentation of himself. He wore his joy and anger and hurt on his sleeve. Peter longed for the day he might feel it right to cherish in or soothe any of those emotions that flickered in his face and voice like a campfire on a distant desert night, calling him home.

Nureyev didn’t particularly like being wrong, and as such, he had worried he would abhor learning so much about a new environment. However, with Juno walking him through the strange new world in which he’d found himself, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

One of those learning curves he minded least was the shooting range.

Captain Aurinko had discussed the idea of Nureyev eventually joining the crew. While Nureyev was never one to work in teams of criminals, those bands of bandits with whom he competed seldom acted as familial as the crew. Regardless of his feelings towards the members of Aurinko’s crime family, as she called them, he knew well that if he wanted any chance at keeping up with a group of modern thieves, he needed to learn how to use modern weaponry.

Thankfully for Nureyev, the way people killed each other hadn’t changed much in two thousand years.

Some of the knives glowed or needed to be turned on with a switch, but that didn’t change the way they sat in his hand, just the right weight and just as easy to flip. He could turn and twirl them to his heart’s content until the feeling of them settled atop his palm or until Juno rolled his eyes and told him to quit showing off and just throw the damn plasmacutter already.

For Juno’s sake, he pretended not to notice the way his eye grew wide and fixated on the blade when Peter tossed it in hand.

That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t going to internalize it, ensuring that all his trick shots were especially impressive and pulled off with a bit of flair. Even if the targets were a little more complicated than his usual fare of haystacks and cacti and the occasional spare bottle, the satisfying sound of the blade sinking into each and every one of them still made the heat of pride rush through his chest, especially with Juno’s eye on him.

Shooting was a different matter altogether.

The weapon itself proved to be the majority of Nureyev’s issue. After learning to aim on horseback, he had minimal trouble aiming at a steady target. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop him from letting Juno’s hand rest atop his wrist, their heads nearly pressed together as Juno helped him line up his aim. Even if he didn’t necessarily need the assistance, Nureyev was certainly not one to turn down such a generous offer from such a lovely individual.

“Little to the left,” Juno murmured right into his ear. 

Nureyev felt a sudden wave of appreciation for all the hours he had spent learning to compose himself under stress, for Juno Steel’s words dancing upon his neck did nothing beneficial for his focus.

“I think it’s fine where it is, dear,” Nureyev smiled. “Perhaps it’s your angle.”

“You wanna test me on that?” Juno shot back, leaning away to allow Nureyev his shot.

“Gladly,” Peter returned. 

“Make sure the button’s yellow before you shoot,” Juno instructed. “If it’s red, don’t fire. Safety reasons and all that.”

“I’m well aware, detective,” Nureyev returned. 

“How did you know I was—”

“Your former secretary did my nails the other night,” Peter chuckled, wincing in preparation for a bolt of noise as he fired. “Well, I suppose a bullseye isn’t half bad.”

“It’s a little crooked,” Juno huffed. “Maybe you should’ve shot a little bit to the left.”

“Well, I’m sure you can take that up with whichever goon I stun a few centimeters to the left of my intended spot,” Nureyev couldn’t help but grin. “Now, could you get back to holding my arms in that position? I was greatly enjoying it.”

“You don’t even need me around,” Juno snorted, though his feigned look of offense shifted back towards a smile when Nureyev sank a few more bolts of electricity into another two targets.

“Well, perhaps I want you around,” Peter returned with a shrug. The flicker of hope on Juno’s face was so potent that Nureyev missed the next shot.

As much pride as Nureyev could take with his emerging skill with modern variants of weaponry and as much quiet appreciation he could take in most other things being fairly easy, his general good mood at being aboard the Carte Blanche was not constant. Notably, his injury still required far more upkeep than he was happy about showing in front of any other people.

Usually, he could keep any and all injuries buried under bandages and layers of clothing so they were not noticed until they trailed away into scars he could pretend not to hate. However, with clothing that covered less and an attentive crew, Nureyev could not so easily slink away into one of his hideouts and wait out the pain with a bottle of whiskey. Having a roommate made the matter no easier.

Even though Juno was technically assigned to keep an eye on him in more of a prisoner sense than a caring one, Nureyev certainly didn’t miss the way he doted on his injury. If Nureyev so much as winced, Juno would have an ice pack and a bottle of water and some over the counter pain pills, and if Peter made the mistake of letting his hand trail to his bandaged side when he was in Juno’s line of sight, he knew an offer to change the bandages or take a look at the wound was not far behind.

Under any other circumstances, Nureyev was fairly sure he would have minded all the attention towards something he would usually consider a lapse in his own skill as a thief. Whether it was from the severity of the injury or that strange, warm feeling in his chest that bloomed like a late summer rose in the presence of Juno Steel, he could not tell. Either way, he found himself caring less and less about how it looked to allow himself to be taken care of.

The strange deliberation over the matter came to a head some time later, when the wound had healed enough to require no more heavy painkillers, which Vespa had been cautious to use in excess in case of an emergency. Nureyev, no stranger to conserving medical supplies, understood, though that made him no happier with the fact that the gnawing ache in his side had begun invading the hours during which he attempted to sleep the pain away.

If anything, he had expected to grit his teeth and ball his fists into the bedsheets and hold as still as possible so as not to disturb his bedmate. He hadn’t expected to end up with his head in Juno’s lap and those same clever fingers in his hair as he drifted closer and closer towards sleep. 

He expected that this would become a nightly ritual least of all.

Even once the pain began to subside for good, those casual touches, as easy as they were earth-shattering, remained. Some nights, they would take their places on their respective sides of the beds. Most mornings they would wake up somewhere close to tangled. Some nights, they wouldn’t bother with the pretense of avoiding one another at all. 

Nureyev had learned that Juno liked being the little spoon, while Juno had learned that Nureyev had a tendency to run cold without contact, so the both of them mutually agreed to a nightly ritual of Peter’s chin atop Juno’s head and his arm draped over his waist and the both of them so tangled that getting up in the morning might as well be a sport. The only thing Nureyev minded about the entire arrangement was the longstanding refusal to acknowledge it.

After enough nights and mornings pretending not to be intertwined, Nureyev finally made the decision to break that silence.

“Juno,” he began, words blurred through a yawn.

“Mmph,” Juno replied.

“You don’t have any reason to be so gentle with me,” Nureyev pointed out.

Juno shifted so they were facing, his gaze still bleary with sleep, but clearly fixed upon Nureyev.

“Maybe I’m not always an asshole,” he joked.

“Be serious, dear,” Peter huffed, and though he supposed this was probably far from the best time to let his hand come to rest atop Juno’s cheek, he did so anyway. Any reservations he had about the matter drained away when Juno’s hand joined his and squeezed it. “Aren’t I technically your prisoner?”

“Roommate,” Juno corrected. “They only had me interrogate you at first because you knew me a little better. Thought I’d be less imposing.”

“Well, you’re supposed to keep an eye on me,” Nureyev pressed on. “So why have you been so—” 

“If it makes you uncomfortable—”

“No, not that,” Peter cut him off. “I’m not complaining, I’d just like to know why.”

Juno sighed, and for a moment, the patient expression of listening faltered from his face.

“From the beginning, I—” Juno broke off to swallow. “I lost somebody in a similar way. I kinda felt like I had to take care of you.”

“Oh, Juno,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“And, well, then I actually got to know you, and I found out that—” Juno cleared his throat. “Well, I like having you around. A lot.”

“Well, dear detective, I suppose we agree on that matter,” Nureyev smiled. “I rather enjoy your company as well.”

“Even like this?”

“Especially like this.”

Juno opened his mouth to speak, then paused, shaking his head. 

“It’s stupid,” he brushed himself off.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Nureyev returned gently.

“I was gonna ask you—God, this is so dumb,” Juno cut himself off.

“Dear, you had to teach me how to flush a toilet. There’s hardly a thing you could say that I could possibly judge you for.”

Juno took in a deep breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

Nureyev chuckled with a tiny shake of his head, for had it been any bigger, he feared their noses would brush across the pillow.

“My dear detective,” he smiled. “Do you really need to ask?”

Nureyev didn’t realize how close they had already been until all Juno had to do to press their lips together was tilt his chin. He certainly didn’t mind, his arm pressing them closer while Juno’s hand made a loving pilgrimage to the side of his face. When they broke after what could have been five seconds or five years, Peter caught himself halfway through a stupid, domestic grin before he could even consider making something more composed of his expression.

The kiss was, objectively, a good one, for Juno sighed against him and pulled him close and kept their foreheads resting together even once he had finished pressing a prayer into his lips. However, it was made infinitely better by the fact that the lady kissing him was Juno Steel, who had doted over his injury and all but saved his life and most importantly, made a strange twist of fate a sweet one.

“That was nice,” Juno managed.

“You’re quite the thief, Juno Steel,” Nureyev chuckled. “It seems you’ve taken the words right out of my mouth.”

“You’re so dumb,” Juno snorted, cut off when Nureyev kissed him again, briefer this time.

“I was hoping to reward your honesty with some of my own,” Peter broke them off, even if something in his chest tugged when Juno tried to chase his lips for just a moment after their parting.

“Yeah?”

“The name I gave you when we met was an alias,” he confessed. “I’ve used them my entire life, though I’ve always tried to keep my true name close to my chest, if you will.”

“You don’t have to tell me just because it’s not a problem anymore,” Juno began to protest. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything.”

Nureyev squeezed his hand.

“I want to share this part of myself with you, if you’ll have me,” he continued. “My name is Peter Nureyev. If I’m being honest, I’ve wanted to hear you call me it for quite some time now.”

“Peter Nureyev, huh?” Juno tried, his face blooming into a smile when Nureyev let out a surprised chuckle. “Are you making fun of me, Peter Nureyev?”

“I think it sounds perfect,” he returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill kiss you real soft
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22!!


	6. Hold Your Gigahorses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!!! FINALLY I GOT AN EXCUSE TO WRITE GIGAHORSES!!!!
> 
> Content warnings for pursuit, minor gun violence, injury mention, nausea mention, blood mention, snake mention

“And your job is to?” Juno prompted.

Nureyev rolled his eyes.

“Hang onto your arm and look pretty,” he huffed, though Juno could plainly see the smile playing on the edge of his mouth. “How terribly difficult.”

“You’ll be fine,” Juno snorted and tugged Nureyev a little closer by the elbow when his gaze began to tarry towards the intricate system of electric lights and chandeliers stretching across the domed ceiling of the ballroom. “You’re already doing both.”

“Why, detective,” Nureyev beamed.

“Hit on me after the heist,” Juno teased.

Nureyev chuckled, giving Juno’s hand a little squeeze from behind his thin white gloves, a staple of the elaborate suit and waistcoat he donned for the kind of event he had only read about in books. He hadn’t imagined he would ever attend a ball, especially as an individual who would rather rob a carriage than ever set foot in one. However, he certainly couldn’t argue against attending an event of such opulence for the sole purpose of stealing from it.

He seldom imagined he would attend such an event in the finest suit he had ever seen, let alone with a lady posing as his wife on his arm. Nureyev quickly learned that the entire evening seemed to be blooming into some sort of surprise or another. 

Juno, who had presented himself as a hardened professional, certainly had a knack for letting his eye wander away from their mark and get lost along the seams of Nureyev’s suit. From the rose-tinged glass of the mirrors lining every wall, he couldn’t exactly blame Juno, nor could he feel guilt for pausing a moment to appreciate his own reflection. He supposed a little hedonism wouldn’t be entirely out of sorts at such a gem-encrusted gala.

If he were Juno, however, he doubted he would be able to pull himself from a mirror at all. Juno had dressed to fit in, though Peter had a sneaking suspicion that if all went wrong with the plan, the vision of the lady himself would be enough to serve as a distraction. 

He wore blue the way the sky had worn it when stretching for miles above the home Nureyev had hardly had time to miss. At first, Peter had suspected the familiar shade was what made something in his chest ache and burn, but after their first dance, swirling around the room and pretending to pay attention to their mark, rather than how the soft, golden glow of the chandeliers looked reflected in one another’s eyes, he began to realize that the skies of home had nothing on Juno Steel.

Perhaps it was some form of blasphemy to think it, though Nureyev felt it would be a greater sin not to properly worship his goddess. Nureyev wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Juno seemed to float when all other guests at the party walked, as if the slow, gentle turn of the planet beneath his feet were merely the spinning of a spring below a dancer in a music box. The sun shone just to bless light upon the face of Juno Steel.

At some point, Nureyev had to tear his gaze away from Juno to focus on stealing the gemstone displayed upon a pedestal at the back of the room. However, the clenching of Juno’s jaw seemed hellbent on making the object of their heist even more difficult than before.

“So those video cameras,” Nureyev began in a furtive whisper disguised by a sweet tone and chuckle, as if he had been making some rather private comment into the ear of his wife. “Am I correct in saying Rita has shut them off entirely?”

“Yeah, for now. That means our only problem’s with the security guards,” Juno returned. “And I don’t think all of them were in uniform. I caught the eye of a few couples who were trying a little too hard to look like they were having fun out there, and I’ve hidden enough blasters under my skirts to know they were armed.”

“Undercover security,” Nureyev thought aloud. “I suppose there are only two ways to deal with this then.”

“What?”

“Either make as little noise as possible and leave quietly,” Nureyev began, though Juno shook his head.

“With this many eyes in the room? No way.”

“Or make as much noise as possible to make sure nobody is looking at us when we do take the gemstone,” Nureyev finished, a smile beginning to broaden on his face. “Dear, from what you’ve seen of my shooting, how well do you think I would be able to shoot a target on the ceiling about the size of my hand?”

“What?”

Nureyev reached for the blaster from the breast pocket of his jacket and squinted up towards the ceiling, trying to remember which patches of the dance floor had made those lights twinkle the brightest in Juno’s eye. He paused for a moment, counting to ten to ensure nobody was within reach of the floor, then took a deep breath.

“Juno, love,” he began, a coyote’s smile baring across his face. “Mind the chandelier.”

Nureyev fired, barely having time to look over his shoulder and check to see that the shot had flown true before Juno grabbed him by the hand and took off at a sprint away from the crashing heap of glass and gold and diamond crumpling where the dancers had stood mere moments before. From the sound of it, nobody was injured, though enough were terrified to cover the speed of their escape. Peter knew he should have been keeping his eye on the gemstone, but all he could think to do was share a beam with Juno, who shot a victorious grin right back.

Peter managed to tear his eyes away long enough to stuff the gem into his coat without further thought, then returned his hand to Juno’s and took off down the marble terrace into the mansion’s back gardens.

“There! He’s the one with the blaster!” Someone cried from the ballroom behind.

“Shit,” Juno breathed. “The car’s on the other side of the house. You got a faster way out of here?”

All Nureyev had to do was spare a glance at the stables for Juno to break into a glare.

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Juno began slowly.

“You are,” Nureyev confirmed, then dragged him off by the hand.

“How the hell did I ever agree to this!” Juno cried over the sound of blaster fire and the twelve galloping legs between their two ‘borrowed’ steeds, his voice an octave higher than usual as he hung on for dear life.

Nureyev, on the other hand, merely crowed out a laugh, one hand tight on the gigahorse’s bridle and the other making clever work of his blaster. The two security guards they hadn’t managed to outrun barely stood a chance against clever shots and tricks of maneuvering, even though Juno still clung so tight to his steed that he had almost gone completely flat against it.

“You didn’t!” Nureyev returned simply, punctuating himself with another shot over his shoulder that missed in the dark. Thankfully, the bolt of blue was enough to illuminate his true target, so after a few more bolts for good measure, the security guard tumbled off and his own steed came to a stop.

Nureyev slowed his gigahorse and nodded for Juno to do the same, even with the sound of the security guards on foot still crashing far behind. He didn’t doubt they could spare a minute to allow Juno to regain his breath and dignity in equal measure.

Peter let out a victorious noise when Juno slowed to his side. Juno, on the other hand, let out a nauseated one.

“Nureyev,” he groaned.

“What, you’re telling me the man who spent his entire life in outer space can stand to live in a spaceship, but not ride a horse-insect?” Nureyev teased.

“First off, I didn’t fly everywhere. Second, it’s called a gigahorse. Third,” Juno paused to swallow. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Love you too, dear,” Nureyev chuckled, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

When the lights of the escape car came into view, Nureyev brought his steed to a stop and slid off the back, hoping to make it to the ground in time to help Juno step down. 

However, it seemed whichever goddess’s spirit had possessed Juno earlier in the night had left, or, more realistically, he was out of the public eye and far more comfortable with being fully himself once more. He attempted to slip off the horse in the same way Nureyev had, but, upon getting caught in its many legs, nearly fell off entirely. Peter managed to catch him before he could hit the ground, meeting his glare with an adoring smile.

“Not to spend too long praising myself, but,” Nureyev broke off to chuckle. “I’ll admit, that was cool.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Juno snorted. “Keep holding me. I’ll act injured or something in case anybody stops us.”

“No other reason you wish to be held, of course,” Peter teased as he began to walk towards the car.

“Nope,” Juno shrugged. “Nah. No reason at all. I actually hate you.”

“Goodness, you think I would have figured that out after all this time,” Nureyev smiled, only setting Juno down when he had taken his seat in the back of the car and received an eye roll from the ship’s doctor for good measure.

“Oh, barf,” Vespa groaned.

“Hey, I don’t—”

Juno’s retort broke away when Buddy’s voice rang out through the speakers. Nureyev blinked for a moment, mind racing to find an excuse for the captain to call with such little warning or with such a terse tone.

“Vespa, I assume Juno and Pete are with you,” she began, sounding nearly cold.

“All here, Captain,” Juno affirmed.

“I’m calling a family meeting as soon as you return to the ship. We’ll debrief on the heist at another time. For now, there is a rather pressing and time-sensitive matter at hand,” Buddy finished. “Buddy out.”

Nureyev had already opened his mouth to ask something, but it seemed the captain had purposefully kept her message short. The meaning was clear. The entire crew needed to return to the ship as soon as possible, and she only wanted to discuss the matter in person. 

Any sort of question he could have loosed into the air was condensed into a single glance he shared with Juno, who merely squeezed his hand across the seat. If Vespa had a problem with their public display of affection, she didn’t mention it, merely swallowing and keeping her hands tight around the steering wheel.

“So,” she cleared her throat after the resounding silence trended towards agonizing. “Why the hell were all those people running?”

“Ransom shot a chandelier,” Juno snorted.

“For what, fun?”

“To clear the room,” Nureyev clarified.

“Shit,” Vespa breathed. “Hell of an audition.”

“Thank you,” Peter almost smiled in return. “It means the world coming from you.”

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Vespa started as the car pulled into the ship’s airlock, though any elaboration trailed away when she noticed the remainder of the crew gathered on the other side of the door.

Had Nureyev felt anything other than the buzzing of nerves in his chest, he might have rushed to the other side of the car and opened Juno’s door for him. However, Buddy’s words, as they so often did, had managed to wedge themselves into a gap of his armor of poise, for he found himself grounded only by the feeling of Juno’s hand, tight around his.

Peter knew what was coming before Buddy even opened her mouth.

He had caught his fair share of snippets of conversation when others on the crew thought he couldn’t hear. He had heard the underlying twinge in Rita’s voice when she asked how things were going with Mistah Steel and caught the flash of sympathy in Buddy’s eye when he mentioned something specific to home as he knew it, a far away place from thousands of years in the past. 

Nureyev had long since come to terms with the fact that his home was a dead thing, where he could partake in the lonely kind of success the balladeers sang about and blaze through the young and glorious downfall he had always wanted as a young man with his mentor’s blood fresh on his hands and the roaring of life in his ears.

Buddy explained that Rita had managed to reopen a portal, leading the crew down the halls until his eyes caught a flash of swirling light sitting amidst the great, curved glass window that bore the inky void of space before the crew. Nureyev couldn’t manage to hear a word of it, for his eyes locked on that deep blue sky that sounded like a troubadour’s guitar and smelled like the desert opening its arms to receive its first proper rain in months.

“I don’t think I can keep it open for very long, Mistah Ransom, so I’m super sorry, but I think you’ve gotta make your choice fast,” Rita said, somewhere far away.

Nureyev squeezed Juno’s hand.

“If you want to go back,” Juno began, voice sounding dryer than any desert Nureyev could possibly return to. “I don’t want to be what stops you.”

Nureyev glanced between the blue of the portal and the blue of Juno’s gown. He had thought the two to be sisters in shades, though upon comparing them side by side, the desert blue of home seemed thinner somehow, more flecked with wheezy strands of white, while Juno’s gown reminded him all too well of the pedestal that had held up the priceless gem at the night’s gala. 

Peter swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak. He found no words to say.

“Pete,” Buddy began again. “I know this is difficult, but—”

“Oh, shoot!” Rita started, fingers flying at her portable keyboard and brow knitting so tight her face darkened by a shade. “Mistah Ransom, I think we’ve got like thirty seconds tops, unless I can try to find some other way to mess with the code of that Dark Matters bot, but I dunno how much I can do now.”

“Juno, I—” Nureyev began, shooting a glance away from him and back towards the portal.

He found, for some odd reason, his gaze could not fall upon the portal at all. Rather, all that filled his eyes was the great, dark void of space, dotted with the millions of stars and planets and asteroids he had once stared at from afar. The darkness was comforting in a way, and for the first time in his life, he could almost see why the soft, velvety embrace of night was so often referred to as a blanket.

Nureyev didn’t realize the portal had disappeared entirely until he heard Rita gasp. His eyes had yet to trail from a distant patch of the heavens that might have been Mars.

“Mistah Ransom,” Rita began through the hand over her mouth, sounding mere inches from tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter let out a breath, shaking his head. After a long enough moment rendered frozen, it seemed the rest of the crew did as well. Nureyev was fairly sure he surprised them upon smiling.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Miss Rita,” he assured her with a nod, then, turning to Juno and squeezing his hand like a lifeline, met his eye. “All I want to do is stay.”

“Well, darling,” he heard Buddy beam before he could turn to see it. “I suppose I should officially welcome you to the crew of the Carte Blanche.”

Nureyev hadn’t expected to leave the room celebrating. However, with Juno’s embrace making it difficult to walk and Vespa’s jabs back and forth with Juno making it difficult to embrace, Peter couldn’t help the incurable smile that had made its way onto his face. Perhaps, it was not the usual grin he had spent so long perfecting in front of a mirror. In a way, he couldn’t find it within himself to care. 

Here was Peter Nureyev, a gentleman thief, rather than a gentleman bandit, and one among a family at that. He was wanted, of course, but the feeling was a fairly usual one, and the law enforcement knew not that they searched for a man who had gone missing thousands of years ago. 

The Peter Nureyev who had terrorized the coaches and train cars and banks of the west had been the kind of man inseparable from his past, as much as he tried to sink his blade into his name and rend it away from himself. The Peter Nureyev of the present had shared his name willingly, knowing it to be a tender thing best cherished when there was someone who didn’t see it as a weakness. He no longer worked alone, and he no longer needed to. He had more help than he could gain from a shoddy first aid kit in a mine shaft and more company than he could gain from the rattlesnakes who made their homes in his hideaways.

He hadn’t met the Peter Nureyev of the future yet, but with Juno hanging onto him and Rita wiping gleeful tears from her eyes and Buddy and Vespa and Jet all trying, in their own ways, not to look too excited, he had a feeling he was going to look forward to what the galaxy had in store for Peter Nureyev next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW!!! Thanks for coming along for the journey!!! thank you lil nas x youre my inspiration i do it all for you
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill steal your gigahorse
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!

**Author's Note:**

> OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN!! gird your loins this is about to get so fun SHIT i love this fic
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill eat my hat
> 
> Make sure to check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


End file.
